


Introspect

by Velesia



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Injury Recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velesia/pseuds/Velesia
Summary: Agent Kallus dreams about Bahryn. He has a lot of dreams, and almost as many regrets. Now he has to decide what to do with all this introspection.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Introspect

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rynne for her beta help, and for listening to me rant about Rebels.
> 
> End notes have specifics on tags.

_Agent Kallus growled with frustration at the orange indicator lights flashing in his face. His modified bo-rifle and ISB hand-to-hand required more than one measly unit of space to execute!_

_A long purple arm whacked his skull against the gyroscopic control panel. Shrill alarms pounded his ears. Limbs whirled in hasty grabs that blocked his own at every turn. The thrice-damned gravitational system must have been damaged. They were fumbling as much as fighting in this Ithorian nut shell._

_The Agent ground his teeth, incensed._

_This Lasat was a living mockery of his failures. It stood up time and time again with those damn Spectre terrorists. Disrupting supply lines was one thing, and taking advantage of local political corruption another, but this was becoming personal. Starving out planets didn’t drive the rebels from their hiding places. Collaborating with insurgent informants and fellow Imperial officers alike yielded dismal results._

_Rebel fear-mongering destabilized dozens of planets relying on the Empire for support. And such actions against Imperial citizens had brought this wrath down upon them. Agent Kallus was responsible for ending the uncertainty and fear these beings were visiting upon the citizens of the Empire, and he always fulfilled his duty._ _He could not allow the Ghost crew to wreak such havoc. He would not allow this thing to escape him._

_Adrenaline coursed along the Agent’s veins as he thought back on every time he’d cornered the Lasat - this would be the last!_

_Nostrils dilating - Kallus punched Garazeb Orrelios in the karking face._

_Metacarpal bones fractured against long, pointed teeth. The Agent winced, the pain well worth it, as his enemy lolled back. Purplish blood dripped from the Lasat's surprised grimace. A long leg kicked him square across the chest in retaliation. The Agent impacted the steering column of the escape pod’s rudimentary helm, and felt several ribs crack with the force of the attack. Agent Kallus righted himself - as both were thrown against the escape pod walls by an explosion._

_The warriors sobered in the wash of sparks. Agent Kallus lept towards the navigation panel. Directional controls were unresponsive. Thrusters and landing gear were not online._

_Hurtling towards impact, the Agent found himself gazing with horror into his enemy’s wide, brilliant eyes._

_They faced the planet rising before them. The pale sphere quickly resolved into a reflective monstrosity of ice. Speeding impossibly faster and closer until they collided with the surface in a shattering of snow and spacecraft. Kallus felt his leg crack at a frightening angle. A scream wrested from his lungs..._

\- - -

In the cold and dark Kallus awoke.

Heart racing, he slowed his breath and focused on the facts reported by his senses. His leg radiated an excruciating ache, injured but a few cycles into recovery. The sterile, dry scent of his surroundings confirmed he was aboard a starship. The low temperature and dull thrum of properly shielded engines indicated a large, well maintained vessel. His eyes opened.

A dim, golden light welcomed him. He could not help a gusty exhale. 

Blood pulsed thickly in Kallus’ brain. Lying still, he oriented himself to quarters aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Relentless. Kallus shook his head against the clingy polyester of his pillowcase, as if to loosen his memory of his confrontation with the Lasat.

So many aspects of his time on Bahryn had felt outside his control. The dreams fixated more on his failure to manage the moment than on his quarry. The Agent was ashamed to have reacted with such fear, in the face of his adversary no less. 

It was embarrassing for someone of his position to require extraction, or support of any kind. To have his survival depend on his quarry felt additionally damning. Kallus was fortunate a contracted freighter had picked up the transponder’s signal not long after the Ghost departed.

Far better to compensate a tradesman, than weather the blow of Imperials witnessing his pitiful condition on that bloody ice-ball. 

He’d known the risks. The region was not actively patrolled, apart from the trap Agent Kallus arranged on the old construction station. With only a transponder signal, there was no telling when his squad would realize he was out of commission, let alone set out to retrieve him. Kallus could trust the Lasat not to kill him when their survival depended on each other. But leave with the Spectre force, with nothing but the Lasat’s assurance of “fair treatment?” No, waiting for the Empire had been his only option. 

He’d hardly anticipated a welcoming party upon his return to the Relentless, just acknowledgement. Not that it mattered. For all Admiral Konstantine knew, Kallus was working undercover, making connections with an informant, or retrieving a strategically important glowing rock.

Any number of reasons could take an Agent off grid, none of which were up for review to any but ISB High Command. Certainly the Admiral had plenty of duties demanding his attention. Kallus hardly owed the naval officer a report for every lead followed. He did not require recognition from his peers to be effective. 

Swinging his legs stiffly over the side of his bed, Kallus attmpted to right himself. Slumping to his left the Agent's eyes slid closed, ponderous with lost sleep, as he carefully tested tendons, tissues, and bone.

Crystalline grit lined his cheeks.

A cursory rub did little to dislodge the stubborn particulates clinging to his lash line and crow’s feet. Kallus was by no means an old man, though he'd felt his age more keenly since assignment to this sector. 

Kallus sighed, flexing his right ankle and knee. The pain grounded him in the here and now.

As a former thought policeman for Internal Affairs he recognized the patterns - depression, hyper attention to the mundane, justification of irrational behavior, compartmentalizing within familiar structures instead of accurate ones. It was easier to think about his experience on that ice moon within the context of his physical recovery and status as an officer. He needed to move on - wallowing like this would not help his rehabilitation.

In the pale light of the meteorite, Kallus shuffled to the refresher. His jaw clicked in a wide yawn and square, short clipped fingernails scraping across his face. Stimulated blood vessels tingled in the chilly air of his cabin, yet his skin felt weighty upon his frame.

Another thought lurked in his subconscious. He was not yet ready to name it, even in his own mind. 

So began another rotation of service to the Empire.

Kallus did not allow his eyes to focus long enough to resolve the blurred red light on his clock into legible numbers. He knew it was early. Too early, even to head to the medical wing to visit 2-1BD. Three cycles since his limping return to the Star Destroyer. With all the technology in the universe his body was still human. Still healing.

For almost two years the Spectres had made a grand fool of him, wasting trooper lives and panicking the public. He had to admit, at this point it was more like a vendetta than an assignment.

Demeaning though their success was, they had nearly fallen into his trap at the construction station. He had been so close! Kallus burned to think of how completely he’d lost control. The truth of Bahryn was more difficult to bear. What preyed on his mind was not the pain that now lanced through his limbs, or fear of enfeeblement at the hands of his enemies. No, it was something else.

Kallus was laid lower by the honor of his enemy than his actual injuries. 

He continued to fold each moment over in his mind. The Lasat standing above him with the ‘rifle, unthinkably lowering it instead of ending their conflict in its favor. Instead, it committed to waiting for a 'fair fight' rather than take advantage of their situation. It bound his broken leg and spoke to him as a fellow being.

Nearly out of his mind with the pain and cold, Kallus recalled his screams echoing from the pod and into the ice-bound chamber beyond. He recalled words of insistence, of a trial - and the Lasat's jaded conviction. He recalled a useless flush of regret, as he spoke his shame into the frozen air.

He was still incredulous they’d walked away at all - much less having saved each other.

But Kallus had been a broken man before. He knew the consequences if he was unable to reforge himself. 

Ghosts of his first command on Onderon drifted past. Kallus wrestled with a gnawing soreness, deeper within than his fractured hand or femur. He did not believe in the value of carrying grudges, but Kallus had plenty of regrets. In a flash he could see his unit backlit by a frag grenade, before they were gunned down; dispassionately murdered by Saw’s Lasat mercenary. He could still feel dust coagulated in his nose and strained to breathe. Blood splashed across the sand, evaporating as another comrade was bludgeoned off their mortal coil. 

The Agent shook his head, vexed by his sluggish response. Plenty of missions required fines this heavy.

His scars told plenty of war stories - bar fights and surgical theaters added their own lines in turn. It was all worthwhile in the pursuit of corruption within the greatest governing body ever manifested across the galaxy. Stars knew there were plenty of targets on the system that provided organization across all of charted space.

Disgusted by the soft limits of his moral and physical flesh, Kallus lifted himself from the bed and began his morning stretches.

Kallus savored the flexibility and strength encouraged by mandatory physical conditioning. Agents of the Imperial Service Bureau served as role models, and Kallus had always prided himself on exceeding expectations. Though it would take time to fully repair his body, the familiar practice was a welcome diversion from his memories.

Twisting through his forms, Kallus noticed a trembling in his leg.

He pressed on.

Every prick of discomfort was a reminder of his commitment. Each twinge commented on his current frailty. Kallus looked beyond his injuries into his past, evaluating his mistakes. He concentrated on the motions, rather than the reason behind his wounds. Not the Lasat, but everything else that was responsible for his condition. 

Before long, a light sheen of sweat adorned his body. This salt was welcome, earned with effort. Kallus relished soreness from the muscle groups he was still capable of pushing.

A light workout was not a replacement for REM sleep, but add a sonic shower and a cup of caf and he’d feel more refreshed than he deserved. 

Ducking into his private refresher, Kallus shook off his sleep clothes and activated the unit. Silent soundwaves coaxed filth from his skin and hair. He pushed his fingers forcefully through thick locks avoiding further rumination. Invigorated by the deep sensory input, his hands moved next to carve through his beard.

In the mirror pink lines from his fingernails were barely visible through his facial hair.

Outside these surface level reflections he could barely face himself. But why should he feel conflict seeing his own face? Exhaustion was taking its toll in new ways across his freckled visage, and not just because he was still chasing the karking Ghost. He'd been in service to the Empire for twenty years, if you counted the Academy.

It was no suprise he was growing older, especially considering his demanding work. Deliberately, Kallus set the thoughts aside and finished washing up.

He preferred action over recovery and was surprised to see his age written evidently in his features, that was all. 

The man shaved, clipped and combed until the Agent was presentable. Buckling his cuirass into place and slipping his code cylinders into each shoulder pocket, Agent Kallus strode forward. It was time for a change of scenery. 

\- - -

Kallus concentrated on the smooth transparisteel datapad in his sore hand. Gripped in an envelope behind it, slips of flimsi shifted against the slick surface. His footsteps fell purposefully, in a careful cadence to avoid his leg’s weakest point of pressure.

The white illumination of the hallway was a sharp contrast to the warm light of the meteorite in his cabin. Luckily the medical wing was only a few levels removed from the officer’s barracks. Before he could get carried away by another distracting line of thought, Kallus arrived at the rehabilitation ward. 

An R3 unit retrofitted for medical assistance greeted him in binary droidspeak. Kallus inclined his head politely and followed as directed to one of the nurse droid stations. 

“Good morning, ISB 021,” 2-1BD stated in a brusque, metallic tone. “You are here to provide a status report on the efficacy of pharmacological support and receive physiotherapy.” It paused, waiting to receive confirmation. 

“Good morning, 2-1BD” Kallus replied, standing patiently at parade rest, his weight balanced imperceptibly to the left. Not that such posturing would fool a surgical nurse droid. 2-1BD gestured one of their metal limbs toward the bank of private rooms a few units down the hallway to their left. 

“71A,” Kallus stated. The droid nodded.

“Affirmative, precede me,” their flat voice responded. 

A quick glance revealed no one in the vicinity.

With only the nurse-droid witness to his weakness, Kallus loped naturally down the hallway so the droid could evaluate his movement. The Agent could not help slightly favoring one side when coming down into his step. Arriving at medical room 71A the automatic door whooshed open to admit him and 2-1BD, who was not far behind. 

“Your gait has improved but is not fully corrected.” The droid began his assessment. Bulbs flashed behind 2-1BD’s plastic face shielding as they recorded data. “Surgery will not be necessary. Physiotherapy and tissue manipulation will continue for two additional cycles.” A notification blinked on Kallus’ datapad. “I have forwarded my analysis and report.” 

Sitting gingerly on the white examination table, Kallus adjusted his pant leg for 2-1BD to begin tissue manipulation. The droid tilted its plastisteel frame as if waiting for Kallus to respond. When there was no reply, they began ministering. Cool metal digits pressed repeatedly into the man’s meaty thigh.

The human exhaled, trying not to grimace. Each movement was precisely measured to disrupt scar tissue and encourage attachment of healthy fiber. It was almost as painful as the break. 

“Pharmacological support has been intermittently effective,” 2-1BD said. The technical resonance of their voice modulator echoed less in the small room than it had in the open space of the rehabilitation ward. “Perhaps alternative treatments would have a higher rate of success.”

“No no!” Kallus gasped. “I don’t need alternatives.” This recovery was already grueling enough. The last thing he needed was a psychological evaluation. Kallus continued to breathe purposefully as 2-1BD moved to his right hand.

Punching the Lasat’s face wasn’t nearly as damaging as breaking his leg in the crash, but his articulation was still compromised.

“ISB 021,” the droid paused pointedly after another minute of silence. “Surgery _is not_ necessary. Your analysis and report for this appointment have _already_ been recorded.”

\- - -

This was as much subtlety as 2-1BD could extend within their programming.

Previous encounters with organic unit ISB 021 had yielded positive results when circumventing reporting methods. Capillaries in the patient’s face dilated, producing an elevated saturation of color. The slight change in humidity within the chamber after the short period of time they’d been present indicated the patient was sweating. Despite the brief flush, skin did not appear to be well hydrated.

Clearly ISB 021 was not thriving. Just as clearly, he would not respond positively to a standard referral of psychiatric evaluation. 

Not many droids were equipped with data banks expansive enough to recall established protocol for individuals. Fewer still had 2-1BD’s experience. Commissioned by the Republic in the final year before the collapse of the Galactic Senate, 2-1BD was part of a surgical subsection of droids with encyclopedic memory banks. 

Meant to facilitate exceptional service to their patients in highly varietous conditions, 2-1B unit manufacture was not renewed after the Empire was formally established. Existing units were assigned to the ships and stations experiencing the highest variables of organic need. These models could hardly account for every second of time they were operational and wiping them could prove disastrous to the quintabytes of medical data in their non-compartmentalized memory banks. 

Since their assignment to the Star Destroyer Relentless, 2-1BD provided care to over 10,046 organics of the 36,798 serving aboard the ship. ISB 021 was one of the few patients who followed their medical advice without requiring confirmation from a human supervisor.

If ISB 021 did not want to be evaluated, 2-1BD did not want to know why. 

“I am operating... suboptimally,” Kallus ground out eventually, "but my symptoms are inconsistent."

The droid affected an affirmative head motion. Though the subject was unwilling to provide additional data, the droid still had enough to treat. 

“Understood,” 2-1BD responded, silently congratulating themselves for dropping a hint. Tissue manipulation complete, the droid directed Kallus to move through a series of stretches. 

“In addition to your physiotherapy appointments, take this selection of trials,” they continued as ISB 021 completed the now familiar routine. “Test as symptoms present and report results at your next appointment.” 

2-1BD rotated their upper torso section to open a cabinet, and pulled out two prepared packages. Each contained trial size sequences of medication from bacta strips and muscle relaxants to anti-nausea tabs and stim packs. The droid was fairly certain there were even prophylactics as well. Who knew what would help the patient’s mysterious state. 

Taking the bags with a wry smile, Kallus thanked 2-1BD for his time.

As the patient exited medical room 71A the droid could not help a final admonishment.

“Next time arrive for your designated appointment slot,” the droid insisted. “I am not operational before oh five hundred hours. Parsing another droid’s report would be less efficient.” Hearing a repressed chuckle behind him 2-1BD rotated their torso column back to look at the human.

“Of course,” ISB 021 replied, not even marginally chagrined.

2-1BD took several seconds to process this information. ISB 021 had obviously been awake for hours. He arrived at the rehabilitation ward at 05:14 as recorded by the medical assistance droid. The most logical conclusion was that the patient had waited to visit until he knew 2-1BD was operational, even though he was operating suboptimally.

Fascinating. And proof that ISB 021 was operating outside normal parameters if he was giving in to… sentimentality.

\- - -

Routine, already a staple of Kallus’ life, had become his keystone. Regardless of how long he was unconscious, Kallus dragged himself from bed well before shift start. After moving through morning stretches, he visited 2-1BD for a torturous appointment.

The strain experienced by the rest of his joints as he babied his femur and hand was always substantially improved by the end of each visit. As were the injuries he sustained over Geonosis. The Agent didn't enjoy physical therapy, but he could not argue with results that literally carried his weight. 

Kallus could not stop himself from mulling over the Lasat’s surprising behavior, not to mention his own. But he could lose himself in the mundane.

There were many other projects and activity reports requiring his attention. Some of which had nothing to do with the Lasat. And yet, the Spectres seemed to haunt his work as effectively as their namesake. Distribution of individual assignments to his pool of officers and administration of intelligence across the sector took up hours, as did updates on the members of Spectre force. Though he was no longer stationed at the Lothal Imperial Compound, he was responsible for reviewing details of rebel actions in the sector, including any taken by the Ghost.

Leaning into the minutiae of daily tasks was the best way to drow out the distractions teeming beyond his unconscious. Time blurred through the repetition. Quarterly determinations were due, and the Annual Assessment was coming up in a couple months.

Soon he’d have to report on the sector’s progress in person at High Command. 

Lives on both sides would be wasted in the frenetic recommendations of Governor Pryce. Kallus knew throwing resources at the enemy was a proven approach. The enlisted were undoubtedly capable beings, to be deployed as needed for specific use but hardly irreplaceable. 

To continue with such strategies was illogical. They had not worked. His own plans hadn’t proved much better historically, but he had met with some success. Kallus was fairly sure the Governor had a plan, she wasn't responsible for an entire region because she was stupid.

But how much more force could she justify bringing to bear on the small cell? 

Though vexed, the Agent was committed to executing his tasks to the letter. He would ferret out every opportunity. If collateral damage caused by the Outer Rim rebel group was high, then hours and material waste were approaching unacceptable. The Agent knew things would only escalate the longer it took him to bring the Spectres to justice. It would not be long before they came to a tipping point. 

So Agent Kallus continued his work. He made annotations when requested and tallied his sins with his accomplishments. With single minded focus, the Agent sailed past the implications of his duties - putting as many hours between himself and sleep as he could manage. 

This rotation was like every other. At some point he could no longer complete even rote data entry. Lids dropping heavily over his eyes, the Agent had to acknowledge his limit.

Fatigue could put more at risk than files.

And whatever data entry he'd plucked out of his drawer was not the only thing in the balance. Everyone from supply masters to Grand Admirals relied on the system’s accuracy and consistency. It was time to clock out. 

As usual, as he rose silently from his terminal. Nodding at the shift officer, Kallus retrieved his effects, and began the short trek back to his cabin.

No one bade him a pleasant evening, though a couple enlisted saluted him as he passed.

It had never bothered him before. In the silent steps between his station and the officer’s block, he reviewed his actions, searching for the reasoning behind his disquiet.

Obviously the dreams were to blame. Once he was able to go back to his normal routines, he’d regain his balance. It was only a matter of time until he was able to go through his forms complete with his staff and bo-rifle. Perhaps a more specific approach was needed to fend off these… feelings. 

A few subconscious mutterings would not stand up to the Agent’s self-discipline. 

Even as he undermined their strength Kallus had to concede, this strain of dreams was particularly tenacious. The term nightmare seemed inadequate, each experience was more like a hyper-realistic memory.

Kallus did not believe in lying to himself. Subterfuge was for others, deception was a means to effective end, but lying to oneself was cowardly. Kallus was capable, results focused, and even cruel in the pursuit of his goals. But he was not a coward. 

In what little sleep Kallus could reach he relived situations that, at the time, had seemed cut and dry.

In his dreams the control he cultivated was completely absent. Kallus felt the consequences of his actions, witnessed them as he'd refused to in life. No matter how intensely he struggled, or how logically he reasoned he was strapped to every micro-second as if he were a turbo lift on a track.

Minister Maketh Tua’s death made an appearance, along with his own righteous calculation of it’s merit. He flattered himself that she had known the risk, they both had. Since witnessing the summary executions of Commandants Grint and Aresko, Tua and Kallus had both been galvanized by Moff Tarkin’s intolerance of failure. 

The endless hunt for the Ghost was also familiar. The Agent stood aboard the bridge as his ship sluggishly waded through the stars. He watched, as that little freighter succumbed to a writhing storm of wild space. The Agent relished his view of the Specters disintegrating. 

In a different scene Kallus repetitively rationalized the burning of Tarkintown to his counterpart in High Command. Standing in a holo-vid at last quarter’s determinations, Agent Kallus insisted that the casualties incurred following Darth Vader’s orders demonstrated his loyalty.

Loyalty to a regime that claimed political dissent justified strip mining with labor camps and widespread starvation to affect a meager few.

Not that he’d ever considered their methods reproachable before that Lasat challenged him on Bahryn.

The rebs used dangerous methods. There was no arguing it. Their playbook boasted a wide variety of cons to engender sympathy from the locals whose homes they invaded. Most plans hinged on empty promises of protection or vengeance. They certainly had no concern for the lives of Imperials.

Rewards of their efforts always included damage, and often death.

Planting doubt in the Empire was hardly impossible. The Empire was vast and life came with difficult compromises, no matter where one grew up. Corruption knew no ideal climate, rising like a weed from the core through the rims of known planets and beyond. 

For years Agent Kallus had accepted these terms. Positively identifying illicit ongoings and building a case of incrimination took time and resources. In his years of service, even he’d put away a few beings in error.

But that was the purpose of the system.

He liked the work, it was one of the reasons he was so good at it. He believed in trials and evidence, creating opportunities for those who were innocent to be justly released. Besides, only those with compromised values would associate with the likes of deserters, embezzlers, and saboteurs.

\- - -

Jittering from toenails to teeth, the door to his cabin finally closed behind him.

Another sixteen hours gone.

Kallus set his flimsi and ‘pad aside, sitting on his bunk with a heavy thump. Not trusting himself to work on anything official, he picked up his personal datapad. Tapping the open command brought up research he compiled before he left for the construction station orbiting Geonosis. He hadn’t reached for this device in cycles.

Keeping a tight rein on his state of mind and maintaining appearances with his injuries required a lot of attention. Reading through the file Kallus was overwhelmed. There was tremendous amount of information and intense level of detail. 

Suddenly Kallus was relieved he never submitted this report.

His notes leveled transparently from dedicated to obsessed. Long before he threw himself into an escape pod with that Lasat, he’d been scraping the barrel for clues to their motivations. He went so far as to include such short-sighted observations as “willing to place other rebels and personal safety at risk for unrelated objectives. Examples include retrieval of meiloorun fruit, graffiti, general disorder, rerouting foodstuff shipments…” 

\- - -

_“YOU, LASAT!” Kallus roared through the dry Lothal air. The sight of that unmistakable fur was enough to set his blood pumping. The Agent spun his activated his bo-rifle and swung it in accusation. “FACE ME!”_

_Vibrant green eyes widened and the beast tensed in shock. The moment suspended between them._

_His enemy crouched - watching him in disbelief. Kallus charged forward as the Lasat catapulted across the space on digitigrade limbs. The Agent gripped his weapon in both hands, ready to attack._

_“Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!” the creature screamed in explosive rage, fangs slavering in his assault. Kallus could not believe the intensity. Blow after blow rained between them, rifles ringing out. He could almost feel the heat of Lasan’s fall in his opponent’s burning gaze. Certainly he felt the weight of vengeance in every attack._

_The Lasat’s reach and muscle mass were clearly superior. Parry for parry he was expending energy quickly, but Kallus had been training with his ‘rifle for years preparing for a moment like this. Breathing through the forms, the Agent felt each connection quake through his body. He knew what would fell this beast._

_“I was there when Lasan fell. I know why you fear those disruptors,” Kallus taunted with a cruel sneer, giving ground to lure the Lasat closer. Lips twisting with perverse self-congratulation, he continued, “I gave the order to use them."_

_The creature lunged at him again, deliberately meeting his jab. The Agent’s torso clenched, lifting the weight of the other warrior and his weapon._

_The earth shook with explosion. Those prehensile feet stumbled; the Lasat’s foundation was broken. Good, he was shaken physically and emotionally._

_Kallus surged to land one hit, then another. Finally he stood over his opponent, victorious._

_His adversary literally knelt before him in defeat._

_At last the creature would stand trial as he deserved. Soon these pretentious rebel fools would be in his custody. The sweat clinging to his body was well spent. The Lasat - even with a shattered spirit - had been a worthy foe. In his dream Kallus still felt the surge of adrenaline._

_Kallus would see this to the end, the shame of his past complete._

_Swinging the bo-rifle down, his attack never connected. Gripped by an unseen power, Kallus was thrown with impossible force._

\- - -

Pain stabbed through his temples and joints.

Kallus took a deep breath of recycled starship air and slowly flexed each stiff muscle. Beneath him was not the soft, acidic soil of Lothal, but a firm mattress. Twisted on his side, Kallus could feel scars pulling across his rib cage, lower back, and leg. Creases of synthetic fabric impressed on his skin. Still in last rotation’s uniform, then.

A datapad slipped across his chest, disturbed by his small movements. His right hand twinged as it caught the pad reflexively. He must have fallen asleep reading his old notes.

Well, exhaustive was an appropriate description of the content.

Lethargically craning his neck and shoulders to a chorus of cracks, Kallus set the ‘pad aside. It was late enough he might yet manage an hour or two of rest. Slipping out of his wrinkled attire, Kallus pulled his bo-rifle off the shelf. 

Methodically, Kallus oriented the weapon across his lap on top of a soft square of fabric. With cloth, oil, and patience every ring, knob, and mechanical element turned beneath his fingers.

Since he’d been in recovery there were fewer reasons to head planet-side, thus there was almost no grit interrupting it’s motion. Cleaning the weapon was as much an exercise in mediation as a necessity for it’s improved functionality. The casing was worn smooth with years of handling, and movement joints were adequately lubricated for easy deployment of the ‘rifle's close quarters or artillery configurations.

Callused hands ranged over the ancient device as it's wielder's mind wandered. 

He had known the rebels were sentimental, willing to chance dangerous odds for the smallest reward; starship fuel, humanitarian supplies, or even a single being. Their commitment to each other and their ideals was clear, and their approach was creative. If they were any less clever he would have ensnared them long ago. 

It was only in the light of that Geonosian moon that Kallus realized his ignorance.

The Lothal rebels might engage in risky maneuvers but their tolerance for failure was low - as they defined it. Success for them meant preserving each other’s lives. It meant freedom to live within a system of morality; to thrive, and share their bounty with others. They were not optimally paired by a galactic standard, yet they were more than comrades in arms. Each Spectre had risen from their own ashes to build a new life. A life strengthened by their bonds, and fueled by hope.

Wren’s phoenix revealed more than he imagined. 

He toyed with a spring along the electro-staff end of the bo-rifle’s energy attachment as his mind worked. The Lasat couldn't possibly be serious about joining him aboard the Ghost. Although, the Lasat was a Captain of Lasan's Honor Guard - or he used to be. Kallus did not believe Orrelios would lie about such an offer.

He could not deny it was tempting. Collaborating with beings who valued each other’s intelligence and skills as more than statistics in a spreadsheet was an invigorating daydream. But that’s all it was, and all it ever could be; a fantasy. 

Notwithstanding the Lasat’s insistence about “fair” treatment, the Agent knew how intelligence officers were received even by Rebel command.

The Bureau’s blade fell swiftly on those unworthy of elevation. If an Agent could not arrange their return an attempt would be made to recover them in due time, if only to ensure all loose ends were tied up. Garazeb’s unshakeable certainty was a sharp contrast. He was rescued, not even begrudgingly but with relief. Kallus faced the realization that he could not recall when he last experienced a connection like that.

His association with the officers of his assignments were all very regular. Above board.

The better to hold the needs of the Bureau and their Emperor above any individual’s. 

It wasn’t as though the Empire was entirely peopled with workaholic careermen. Plenty of Imperials found partners and families. Agents famously held themselves apart from the system, and Kallus had always been committed to excelling in his field. Rising through the ranks didn’t happen because of negligence after all. He could hardly count informants as friends. And yet, he recognized a pattern of justification again. 

Frustrated at his repetition, Kallus grabbed a small cleaning tool from his kit. The trigger action was less crisp than he preferred. These thoughts were hardly helping him get to sleep. He’d do better to put them aside altogether. Focus on the learnings of his experience as he always had before. 

Before what? Kallus cast his memory back. He was a seasoned officer before assignment to Lothal. He attained the twenty first rank in the Agency well before he’d met Garazeb Orrelios on the battlefield. Before action on Lasan he thought he knew what to expect from a Lasat. No. If he was sincere, in his own head if nowhere else, he’d pushed many of these thoughts aside.

For years, he’d looked first for the accomplishments of the moment and then greater good facilitated by his role within the Empire. The Agent focused on the wider scope, the overall impact reported by the Empire and his part in it.

It made everything easier - distant deployments, the time alone, the loss. 

Before joining the Bureau, a young Lieutenant Kallus fresh from Command Academy, was deployed to a war ravaged planet. He’d seen the need for strict protocol and stricter loyalty. Peace had not prevailed on Onderon - the Partisans saw to that. Kallus had been through plenty of combat since. He knew Saw Gererra was an outlier even among rebel factions. But not everything was as it appeared. Even friends. 

At the time it soured his stomach to think his Academy schoolmates could be taken in by unsavoury types. But the evidence of misappropriated funds had been irrefutable, and Jovan eventually admitted to his depravity. For money.

No, Kallus no longer had regrets about taking his oldest friend into custody for larceny and embezzlement.

Before the Empire there had been the once grand Republic. The balance of diplomacy across the galaxy became infested with corruption and paralyzed by treaties of inaction. So many had died before the Empire finally brought peace and stability. Such widespread loss and devastation could not be allowed to rise again.

But in the Republic they still held trials, shams though many of them were. Kallus knew these large stakes did not always reflect the common being, struggling to keep their families and livelihoods afloat. There were so many destitute because of the conflicts, or relocated by the Empire for their own safety.

Could some be less culpable, or taken in by the less principled?

How many beings had he detained on eye-witness testimony or a single frame of sense-cam footage while they protested, sometimes violently, their involvement? So many endured interrogation sessions ceaselessly asserting their virtue. He admitted that mind probes were not effective universally, and often left their patients in a poor state. However, if they only used tools that functioned perfectly all the time, it would be impossible to equip such a vast organization.

A single point of weakness could jeopardize the Imperial system.

That was the rationale for severe standards, from physical fitness to moral attitude and inviolate adherence to their rules. The distinction of “other” made everything clearer. The Empire succeeded when everyone stood up to do their part. The Agent understood the Empire was extreme.

He was part of the machine that enforced its rule. A rule that provided security, that created necessary structure, that made it safe for people to sleep in their homes without fear. 

Such words used to fill him with a sense of commitment.

Eyes shuttering against his will, Kallus ran a fluffy cloth over the length of his ‘rifle.

His weapon was clean, and his hands were tired. Whatever Orrelios hoped he would find, this would be enough for tonight. Setting the weapon back, Kallus rolled his aching joints into the mattress.

\- - -

The next rotation came with new intel. There were several potential locations related to the engineer of Captain Syndulla's red bomber unit. Though the Agent had no verified information that Syndulla had flown the ship, Kallus knew what he'd seen.

She'd been in that cockpit, there was no mistaking it.

Kallus requisitioned a shuttle and ‘trooper squad to investigate several nearby sectors. Working through leads, cold as the trail appeared to be, left plenty of paperwork to file at least documenting his thorough attempt. At the twelfth intake form, Kallus hesitated over the species entry.

He’d encountered a wider variety of life forms during these interrogations than in his first year stationed at the Lothal Imperial Complex. 

If growing up on a core planet like Coruscant afforded few luxuries, exposure to the varieties of the universe was certainly one. Beings from all sectors of known space created a life for themselves among the levels of the Republic’s governing planet. He’d played in the streets with a pau’an child, and stole jogan fruit from a terrifying trandoshan trader.

As a young man, Kallus applied to the newly founded Imperial Academy. The testing room had roasted with the many other applicants. Dozens of younglings from his level packed into a small warehouse office for the entrance exam. Shoulder to shoulder he hunched with kaleesh, nautolan, and sullustan students all striving for a better life. 

Kallus thought back to his years at the Academy. He studied under a chagrian tactics professor, and could still recall the excitement of qualifying for the advanced class in counter espionage taught by a bothan. Surely they hadn’t been the only non-human teachers? 

There had definitely been a rhodian and a mirialan in his classes.

Had they been present at the end of his matriculation? Kallus remembered his graduation ceremony and the blush of pride that suffused his young face. He stood proudly beside his fellow graduates, confetti and bugles inaugurating their achievement. They were going to change the galaxy for the better!

It seemed like a different time, freer and less frightful.

Whether that was due to the rose-tint of his memory, or actual change Kallus was unsure.

The fall of the Republic had been complicated for everyone and messy for administration. A number of students falling through the cracks would have been understandable. More vividly than his compatriots, Kallus remembered the pressure to succeed amidst so many qualified competitors. The few connections he made were for mutual advantage as much as companionship.

The Academy was his crucible. It both destroyed the hopeful child he used to be and reforged him into a more capable, calculating man. The habits formed in those long rotations of memorization, critical thinking, and examination shaped the Agent he had become. 

The Agent rarely gave thought to the forces commanded by his organization.

Not all of the Empire was human. However, Kallus did not see any indication of that statistic among officers or enlisted. When had they faded from the ranks, or had he never realized they were absent? 

Perhaps he could check in with the Office of Imperial Promotion, Galactic Truth, and Fact Correction at his annual in-person Assessment. A hyperspace jump that took two full days ought to be used for more than just migraine inducing reports.

For now he was at the end of another largely unsuccessful trip, their rendezvous with the Relentless hours away. Kallus pulled his portable COMPNOR station out from beneath his bunk and booted the relic with a sigh. 

Extracting one of these stations and adapting it for remote work had been instrumental in his efforts to rise from commissioned ranks into the ISB. The many sleepless nights this tech afforded a younger Kallus had given him a leg up on his competition.

He might not be a slicer or mechanic by trade, but Kallus had not lived among the elite. Growing up on the mid-levels of Coruscant, his hands knew the value of work.

Knew need.

Knew scrap and the desperation of getting derelict junk to function. 

The data cards the device used were incompatible with most Imperial terminals and operated at half the efficiency - but he had dozens of them. Cards floated around like flimsi in the upgrade and as a young man it seemed prudent to hold onto anything related to information gathering. Not all of them fit in his remote kit, but there were enough to fill some time. 

A short tone sounded from his datapad. And just as the port light had turned on to indicate full use of his station. From the ‘pad’s notification, it was a meeting request. Curious, whoever sent it either didn’t know he was away from the destroyer or had the authority not to care.

_Informal meeting request with Admiral Konstantine and Relentless Commanders: duty roster assignments, next cycle._

Riveting.

Casting it aside he turned to the station’s manual input, entering the descriptions he could remember. Analysis was one of Kallus’ favorite tasks. Falling down a tunnel of ancient, likely compromised, data was enthralling. The smallest detail, recalled in context, could be pivotal.

As relentlessly as he pushed his body, he worked his mind through the nooks and crannies of potential. By the time he’d exhausted every card and several data chips, it was obscenely early. 

Creaking knees lifted him from the mattress. He’d been seated awkwardly for ages, sifting through transitional intel from the last gasp of the Grand Republic and the formation of the Galactic Empire. Little was corroborated and there was plenty still accessible in the official channels. It wasn’t as though this was related to a live search, and no one could track his actions through the antiquated tech. 

Kallus evaluated the resources at his disposal. There never seemed to be enough evidence to pinpoint the Spectre’s behavior.

As soon as he identified a pattern and sprang a trap there was a new weapon, ship, or Clone Trooper changing the variables. With Moff Tarkin’s and Lord Vader’s personal involvement he’d obtained permission to step out of regulations, and a nominal increase in security clearance.

Even by requisitioning data only tangentially related to the Spectres, his well was running dry. 

Games of politics had never held his interest, though intrigue had its place. Reliable intrigue did, anyway. He’d certainly leveraged blackmail before to excellent effect, but politicking was never a sure thing - unless he had enough material to ensure the other parties would come through.

Entrenched in his pursuit, the Agent was beginning to consider options he did not prefer. Agent Kallus was far more invested in bringing people to justice than toying with the bargaining sleemos that passed for officers in some parts of the galaxy. 

Reviewing his reports in the imperial system revealed unsanctioned redactions and straight deletions. It was difficult to determine the origin of the adjustments. Of course, all his work was in the hands of High Command and it was hardly the Agent’s place to correct his superiors. Nonetheless, Kallus chafed at the amendments to his work.

He’d begun his own data set on the Ghost last year saved to his cards - just in case. His possession of the COMPNOR machine was hardly public knowledge, nor even against regulation. Certainly it was recorded among his belongings, few though they were. 

It was common for Agents to duplicate work for different types of revision or reporting. No one knew he kept an offline copy of the Spectre force’s data. No one could use his device without specific training and codes to enter his quarters. Reports were for his own reference as well as the main data banks of the Empire.

After all, he was assigned to the sector and this cell of rebel activity in particular. It was his responsibility to curtail them by any means necessary. When intelligence ran out, and both standard and custom tactics returned no results, the Agent had to take steps.

He was responsible not only for bringing the rebels to justice, but for safeguarding the civilians they tormented.

Any action facilitating the Agent’s success could be admissible in the appropriate context. Agents were encouraged to pursue innovative lines of interrogation and discovery.

Agent Kallus had an obligation to succeed in his mission - for the good of the sector and the Empire as a whole. Additional clearance had not provided the information he needed, and he now had evidence that his intelligence was tampered with - it could be a mole or another rebel group.

Slicers might be less common on the outer rim, but he knew plenty of ways to tap a channel without detection. 

The Agent had to take advantage of every opportunity and skill at their disposal. There was no proof, yet, that rebels were responsible for contaminating his data. That was why the Agent had to be prepared.

He had to know what he was up against. He could not continue to fail. If he needed to slice his way through his own reports he would, to gain the upper hand.

If he needed to slice an imperial channel, he’d be so thorough it would be untraceable. 

Kallus felt his stomach roll. Floored by such traitorous thoughts, he turned to the side. Kallus placed the hefty station aside; it sank into the yielding bunk. A twinge at his leg traveled all the way to his heart in a crooked line. He trundled to the sonic refresher as quickly as stiff limbs could manage. Each step sent fire through his frame.

Running his hands deliberately through the water and against his face, the pressure helped to focus his attention. 

The Agent was determined to follow through no matter the cost. Alexsandr Kallus was determined to uncover the rebel’s tactics, and the true motivations of the organization in which he’d spent most of his adult life.

Neither drive sat well with him. This was the thought he'd dare not name - doubt.

Stewing with turmoil, the niggling thought burrowed closer to the surface - that there were things to find. Not just rebel activity, propaganda, or inflated hypotheses about who started which war on some small backwater planet - but unforgivable things. True things. 

Blinking wildly, Kallus wrestled his mind into order. At best these deliberations were born of small hours and less sleep.

There was no metaphorical stalk rising against the soil of his mind. Kallus was burned out, on old ‘tel and an early morning. As always, he’d been lighting the torch at both ends. 

The Agent stood. He needed to put away the tech littering his bed and change out of his uniform. He left the sink, busying himself with the task. Though the mirror reflected each step, he could not lift his gaze to meet it. 

\- - -

_Kessel, the final destination of these ingrates - and now that rebel scum. Agent Kallus felt an involuntary sneer crawl up his face._

_Perpetually disorganized, rife with criminals, and redolent with spice, Kessel was synonymous with slag. The only purpose those convicts could serve was mining. Labor could be coaxed out of any being with enough motivation._

_The Agent was aware of what spice represented, disgusted though he was. It created life saving medicine and was notoriously difficult to extract. It was rational to compromise in the light of universal need, and it would be impossible to appropriately compensate someone for the backbreaking work._

_The Pykes at least brokered their power with relevant parties and provided a modicum of structure at the mines. The entire galaxy knew the plight of those who ended up on their way to the Maelstrom._

_Grabbing “Jabba” from the retreating rebels created a tempting trap. The crew might have surprised him at the destroyer, but the Agent was confident they could not outrun him again, not with such tempting bait. Both a crew member and prisoners of the Clone War were on the line._

_Agent Kallus was largely unimpressed by his predecessors._

_The rebel ship appeared just as expected, landing exactly where the Agent anticipated. As his troop carrier arrived, the Agent ordered squad formations in crisp, undeniable words._

_The rebs came out guns blazing, no discernable tactic in their scurrying. Wookiees darted about as blaster bolts streamed through the air. His past self, armored and sure, led the ‘troopers into the fray._

_Kallus recalled his surprise - was that riot of color on Mandalorian armor? Surely not, unless this was the notorious Artist._

_He calculated the risk they were taking. Engaging bleeding hearts with overlarge egos was one thing - seasoned warriors were something else. For all their bluster, the rebs were turning the tide. He had a choice to make._

_Allowing the wookiees to take cover - Kallus chose to focus on the rebels._

_Almost as soon as he decided, a blur of purple shot across the hangar. Kallus fought down the desire to aim exclusively at the large being. He wouldn't be pinned down for long by their haphazard shots. Every rebel would be brougt to justice, the spark of their insurrection snuffed out. Before he could lead the next charge, his enemies suddenly cleared the field but for one._

_Jarrus stood alone._

_Proud and committed, he_ _ignited his lightsaber._

_Even in a dream, Kallus felt the spill of cold dread down his back._

_Defiantly rising before him was a living artifact of the Republic._ _The man's brow furrowed with determination, as if ready to single handedly take up their perversion of democracy. Moments before, he’d been incredulous that Minister Tua was unable to secure these predictable idiots._

_His resolve now hardened._

_Frustrated as Kallus was by the unexpected development, it did explain this group’s success._

_Among the screams of the field he noticed one of the creatures lunging in a particular direction. Bridger’s lean form skittered across the pad and up the stairs, seemingly without purpose - until the Agent saw a smaller wookiee._

_The brief indicated there were only prisoners of war in this group. He had not realized that included a child - or that they took younglings in the mines. The Agent didn’t need to speak their language to understand the wookiees trilled in despair._

_If they survived the firefight the Agent considered whether it would be worth recommending the child to a different camp. He could still remember Command’s response to his report of this, his first clash with the Spectre force._

> _ISB 021 acquitted themselves acceptably. When prisoners were led astray, Agent Kallus made the field decision not to execute. His squad followed orders to target only rebel insurgents. When an adult humanoid male rebel drew a lightsaber, Agent Kallus appropriately redirected his team to the most dangerous threat. Combatants of this caliber were unexpected from the Lothal based terrorist group. Identifying the “Jedi”, and his ostensible apprentice, is noteworthy._
> 
> _Countersigned - Grand Inquisitor and ISB Command._
> 
> _Assessment - Continue Outer Rim assignment to identify Lothal Sector rebel cell members, curtail and report activity. Capture “jedi” if possible. Remand to Grand Inquisitor or Lord Vader. Others are valuable for information on possible connections to other rebel cells._

_Stars, he was inside his own mind! This was unacceptable! Kallus paced across the field of battle. He refused to believe he was incapable of escaping the situation unfolding around him. Deliberately, he took one step and then another away from his remembered self._

_His feet dragged through the sand, deeper with each step. For the first time in his recurring dreams he would not to re-enact this past._

_Kallus left his past self as it dashed off to chase the young Jedi apprentice. Instead, he turned to walk between the flying blaster bolts. With each movement he wondered._

_What gripped Ezra Bridger to run towards heavy crossfire? Was Bridger so confident he could save a child he did not know? Why had Kanaan Jarrus, after evading the Empire for decades, chosen to light up his ‘saber in Kallus’ face? Among all the stars of the universe, how did the daughter of revolutionary Cham Syndulla end up flying circles around a tiny outer rim planet? What compelled Sabine Wren, rising star of the Imperial Academy of Mandalore, to become a deserter?_

_Of all the honorable beings in the universe, how did it come to pass that Garazeb Orrelios found one of the last Jedi in the galaxy? And that Kallus should come into conflict with them both?  
_

_Stronger with every move his body took in this new direction, Kallus fought the pull of his past._

_He concentrated on the space beyond the hangar. Lifting his eyes, the world around him slowly transformed. Instead of a prison planet, redolent with spice and violence, he was surrounded by the place he’d been stationed over the last two years._

_Kallus gazed across drifts of grass, waving peacefully on the plains of a quiet world. Natural stone spires twisted skyward. Colors were ripe, as if saturated by the heat of Lothal’s star._

_He strained to stay in that peaceful moment, to feel that heat upon his skin - to no avail._

_It was a shade, as was he._

\- - -

Limbs heavy with sleep, Kallus shifted. His body registered the usual complaints as he awoke. Like a moth to flame, he felt drawn to the small glowing rock on his shelf. Unwilling to deviate from his morning rituals, Kallus completed his stretches and dressed for the day before he finally picked up the meteorite.

It was less dense than he remembered and still threw light after all this time. 

In the span of his deployment to Lothal, Kallus had compiled extensive, meticulous profiles on each Spectre and their known associates. All of that intelligence combined with experience and abilities Kallus gained from over twenty years of Imperial service.

Nothing had prepared him for Garazeb’s compassion. 

Putting the stone back, Kallus felt like he was letting go of a lot of things. Straightening, the Agent strode out to the hall. This was just one more rotation.

He was in service to the Empire.

\- - -

Several frustrating hours into the morning shift at his comm station, Kallus rotated toward his secondary terminal screen. He could not contain a guttural bark as he knocked his leg into the side of the intelligence desk. 

“Agent Kallus?” LZ-735 remarked to his left. “Did you... need something sir?”

“No, Lieutenant,” Kallus responded, playing his pain off as disappointment. “Not unless you are the duty officer in charge of requisitions and staff on Garel.”

“I… am not,” the young man replied, clearly uncomfortable. 

“In that case I’ll have to continue this investigation later.” Kallus smirked. “Unless you are volunteering to continue it for me?” 

Eyes darting in confusion, the Lieutenant tried not to gape at the Agent, who quirked a brow. Astonished the officer’s eyes widened as he shook his head, hesitantly. 

“I, I’m sorry. I think I may not be qualified, sir?” he replied to the… joke? Kallus withheld a chuckle but nodded approvingly at LZ-735. Struck by his casual regard, the Lieutenant grinned. 

Stars, Kallus wondered if he’d ever been so green. The young man continued, apparently excited by the exchange, “Not like I’m one of those lazy Bith, sir. Though I guess Lieutenant Lyste ought to know better than I, eh sir?”

Both brows rose at the remark.

The Agent could see regret flashing in the officer’s eyes at taking the companionable moment too far. Gulping the young man apologized stiffly, chagrined.

Blinking, Kallus could not summon a single word of reply.

Instead he removed himself from the deck to prepare for his meeting with Admiral Konstantine.

Arriving at the conference room with ten full minutes to spare, Kallus picked up a datapad from the table and stood to one side. There was nothing of immediate import on the agenda, puzzling.

Reviewing the itinerary for intelligence deployments through the sector, Kallus made a note of officers on Garel, Lothal, Utapau, and Sullust. There'd been a significant change to the assignment patterns, and Kallus wanted access to any of the useful intel on these outer rim planets. All had connections to rebellion. In person Assessments would be due in a couple cycles. It would be convenient to sift through as much information as possible on the way. 

The Commandants arrived, briefly saluting the Agent who responded in kind. They took their seats almost as a unit, every motion regimented.

At least Maketh used to greet him with words.

A few minutes later Konstantine arrived, and Kallus took a seat near the holoprojector. As their start time crept closer, one of the aides deftly turned on the projection of their sector and opened a channel for the Governor to opt in. Pryce immediately synced, her sharp gaze surveying the room. 

With her curt nod, the Admiral began.

Konstantine read through every line item on his agenda without pause for confirmation or discussion.

It was a wonder he’d deigned to share the document at all if he was going to speechify the entire thing. Kallus was unclear on why his presence had been requested at this particular meeting, but the Admiral had declined to provide him with any additional information when asked.

How Konstantine rose through the ranks had always been an unpalatable mystery to Agent Kallus. Though he was decisive, relatively capable, and conformed to the Imperial standard, Konstantine was hardly innovative enough to direct a fleet. 

With little worth listening to on the docket, Kallus found himself ruminating on the Lieutenant’s unexpected comment from earlier.

The species of individuals was only relevant to the Agent as it related to connections and weaknesses. He had never considered the speciest culture of the Empire a disadvantage. It was prudent to know the utility and prejudices of those that might be tempted to rise up against an organization that maintained order. Historically every governing body had a variety of anarchists champing at their bit. Yet as those words spun through his mind, Kallus could not identify their origin. 

His experience with anarchy was more personal.

Recovering from the attack at Onderon had been laborious. The injuries he suffered after blacking out required days in a full bacta tank before they could start the sequence of surgeries that replaced two lower vertebrae. Then there were psychological assessments. His every step was measured. Every word recorded to determine his fitness to return to duty. 

Relentlessly the psychiatrists trawled through his life, his assignment, and his defeat at the hands of Saw Gerrera’s Lasat.

Kallus could still feel a shadow looming over him, eyes wide and muscles straining ineffectually.

It was no less terrifying for being imaginary; Kallus had been unconscious by the time the enemy reached him. Not that he could forget the dispassionate murder of his squad mates, eyes dry in the dust and blood pooling around their still forms. Only the siege of Lasan carried such potent recollections. 

Pushing his thoughts aside, Kallus brought his attention back to the meeting. The Admiral was still reading word for word.

Given the governor's expression, she wouldn't stand for this much longer. The tactical information of force distribution was important, but could easily have stayed a report. Just as the Agent drew breath to ask what they were really doing here, Konstantine ceded the floor to Governor Pryce.

"Thank you for the _detailed_ outline, Admiral," the Governor began. Her clipped tone belied her eye’s satisfied gleam - even through the hologram. "Grand Moff Tarkin has provisionally approved my request for the Seventh Fleet. You will rendezvous with the Chimaera in the Lothal sector after completing a full audit. We will destroy any shred of... rebellious sentiment." 

Had she any less self-control, the Governor would be rubbing her hands together with fiendish glee.

Kallus was not surprised her request was approved. Tarkin seemed to be taking Lothal's instability personally. If anyone was capable of catching a ghost it would be Admiral Thrawn. As creative as he was cruel, the Chiss leader was notorious for unconventional methods and incredible results. Results like the recent massacre of Batonn. 

After a brief, heated admonishment not to embarrass her, Pryce disconnected. Kallus rose from the table and strode over to the Admiral. Konstantine was tapping insistently into his datapad, undoubtedly miffed at being usurped by Thrawn.

“This means changes for both of us, Admiral,” Kallus spoke quietly as the last aid left the briefing room. “I may not be back for the rendezvous depending on how long annual Assessments take. You’ll have my most recent report by next rotation. Maybe I’ll even have some insight to share after my trip.” 

The other man glowered at his device, clearly irritated. It was hard to tell if his anger was due to the order for an audit or the Governor's dissatisfaction with his performance. A full accounting of staff and supplies was no small task, and could take several cycles if not more for a single destroyer alone. Governor Pryce wasn't so gauche as to literally tear the Admiral down, but asking for an audit while requesting a different fleet was tantamount to asking for Konstantie's resignation.

“Yes, very good Agent Kallus.” Konstantine replied curtly. “Who knows what those damn rebs will get up to while you’re out of the sector.”

“They are a slippery bunch. Have you seen other reports with similar tactics?” Kallus continued, curious how much the Admiral actually read. And how much he would give away.

“I have far too many duties to prioritize your reports,” the other man insisted, tapping pugnaciously instead of answering the Agent’s question.

“Careful, Kassius.” Kallus replied, in words as smooth and clear as transparisteel. The Amiral looked up at the unexpectedly informal address. “You’d rather receive my reports than be part of them.” 

Disdain more than malice embroidered the Agent’s words. Konstantine was a fool to dismiss an Agent of the ISB. Especially one he’d been stationed with for so long.

So much for commiserating.

Returning to his running search, Kallus couldn’t help also returning to his earlier thought. The officer’s comments and reminder of Batonn struck a chord. 

Clipping his search at his main tactical terminal, Kallus began uploading the meeting data onto a backup chip. It never hurt to have duplicates.

Hands busy without needing his full attention, Kallus found himself strumming that mysterious thought. It barely took a moment to pin a few streams in place, isolate his Imperial network location, and redial the micro encabulators to reduce quantic detection. 

He entered four queries, all of which would seem unimportant. When stormtroopers on Garel station were released for nutritive draughts and shift change. Native fauna of Sullust that could cause allergic reaction in most humanoids. This rotation’s time and date list of sunrise and sunset on outer rim planets. How many Lasat had been taken into custody and when. 

His inconsequential queries returned results almost immediately. Unpinning the slice as the final byte uploaded to his chip, Kallus saved his running search and followed procedure to clear his terminal.

Kallus heard a nervous step at his elbow, it was LZ-735 standing at attention.

“A-Anything I can help you with before you finish, sir?” he stammered out. Surprised at the offer, Kallus refused to consider that the young officer had witnessed anything of note. He was even tempted to reward their persistence by delegating another running search.

Before taking the officer up on his offer, he cast an evaluating look at the young man. Though his uniform was regulation, it looked a bit creased -as though he'd forgotten to have it pressed. He stood at attention, but was not meeting the Agent's gaze. Small beads of perspiration gathering on the Lieutenant’s temple, Agent Kallus paused.

A quick look at the duty roster revealed Kallus was the only senior officer present on this deck and thus responsible for dismissing the squad.

They had all worked an additional 45 minutes without asking why or approaching him.

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant,” Kallus replied curtly. “You and the squad are dismissed.” LZ-735 saluted with relief and headed for the exit with the others. 

Where was the deck officer? Surely their relief squad should have been here by now. A closer review of the roster showed Konstantine’s commandant neglected to assign a night shift to this post. Scowling at the incompetence, Kallus wrote up a citation, copied it to the Admiral, and shifted three on-call troopers.

With nothing and no one present to continue operations, Kallus was stranded at this post. He entered some requisitions for MSE droids, replied to the Assessment preparatory survey, and did _not_ think about the inconvenient timing.

By the time reassigned troopers arrived, the Agent had completed most of his administrative duties through his projected time on Coruscant. At least he'd been productive. 

\- - -

The return to his cabin seemed to take twice as long, as did most tasks these rotations. Only after securing his quarters did the Agent release a deep sigh. Stepping through his evening habits, Kallus casually tossed the chips and pads onto his desk. 

Regret pulled at the edge of his thoughts the way a new officer fiddled with their hard won rank insignia plaque - eager to revel in the circumstances of their new status, and guilty. Guilty for breaking formation, and often for the actions committed to earn such a reward. 

His gut clenched, waiting to feel that guilt. Kallus had bypassed identification protocol to secure information redacted across every level of secrecy. He was culpable, but he didn't even feel conflicted. The regret stemmed from his ignorance; from not seeking answers sooner. 

For all the Empire's dedication to bureaucracy, he could find no record of a Lasat ever taken into Imperial custody - not even his own reports of Garazeb and the Ghost crew.

A number of officers from his graduating class had also essentially disappeared from the record, including both the Rhodian and Miralian. A number of other students from his graduating class held only a name, operating number, and a summary ruling. “Treason” and “Dishonorable Conduct” blinked innocuously from his pad with no mention of their families, Academy records, species designation, or former rank. I didn't even list whether they were executed or released into the custody of a penitentiary. 

A year ago the Agent would have requested a meeting with his counterpart at High Command and insisted on an Internal Affairs investigation.

He had enough connections to do it now, but Kallus wouldn't gain anything from it. The mounting evidence secreted away on his ancient databases was damning, for his own actions as well as the Empire's. Kallus held few illusions that the Galactic Empire was beyond reproach.

He’d focused on a north star - that Imperial forces were doing good.

Their measures were strict, but on the whole life was better because of the Empire. They prevented atrocities like interplanetary war or starvation, and facilitated action if necessary. The extremity of their system was necessary, and preferable to the disastrous division he remembered from his childhood and the fall of the Republic. 

And yet... 

The deeper he dug, the clearer it became that the real currency of their government was oppression. The politicking that greased Imperial leadership had become thick with corruption. Commanders received and kept promotions through violence and blackmail with a dusting of quid pro quo. The unspeakable acts committed to engender such favor weren’t even recorded anymore. Kallus champed at the dearth of information.

It was incomprehensible that no one had noticed. More likely, it was common enough that the risk of pointing out Imperial records were incomplete was not worth the consequences.

Even with ISB security clearance and personal involvement in the campaign, Kallus found little mention of Lasan. Designated as a planet who stood by its long time ally and known Imperial resistor Kashyyyk, there was the briefest line about an Imperial deployment. Apparently Lasan’s “disproportionate response” to their delegations required the Imperial Navy to maintain peace. 

The Agent knew nothing about peace, but plenty about the reality of maintaining order.

Compromise was necessary and came at the expense of freedom. It was meant to be an equivalent exchange; inconsequential liberties for security and the potential to carve one’s destiny from the chaos of the unknown.

For most of his life the Agent considered the price worth paying. Now, Kallus wondered if he had believed the rhetoric because it rewarded his self-discipline with violence, fueled his desire for revenge, and excused his innate cruelty.

He had dedicated himself to a regime that valued efficiency, order, and loyalty. He had not percieved it. In fact he'd allowed it to shape him, to define his actions. 

Loyalty to the point of self destruction. Adherence to regulation, to thought control, had subsumed all other “values.” The Empire offered no security, no relief - they only took. Law no longer served justice, if it ever had.

Instead, that same regime upheld a system devoid of righteousness and balance. There was no innocence in the eyes of the Empire. The sprawling behemoth of administration had the galaxy in a stranglehold of red tape. To it's own end, it would garotte the very universe. 

\- - -

_Facing the Jedi in combat, if one could refer to their ruse in such a way, had been honorable. At least they’d both been armed. The Agent tightened his fist, missing the familiar barrel of his bo-rifle. Kallus strained to free himself from his form as he had before, as if he could question the Grand Inquisitor or Moff Tarkin himself about the nature of their decisions._

_Frustrated though he was, the Agent could not deny the Moff’s tactics were effective._

_They cleanly separated their quarry from the remaining rebels, though the Agent was dubious as to the results. If the insurgents were able to broadcast relevant information or an encrypted message - there were too many variables at play._

_Kallus preferred a tighter grasp on the movements of his enemy. He preferred to be the face in the fight. He preferred control over himself._

_None of his preferences mattered now._

_Per Tarkin’s instruction his past self went through the motions, requisitioning a restraint table for the interrogation chamber. Experience with the Spectres had taught him caution. The Agent included coils fitted for significantly enhanced strength and flexibility. Entering the chamber with the assigned probe droid, the Agent was unsurprised to see the Moff had made adjustments._

_Kallus had not expected two electrocution arms, or the Grand Inquisitor._

_Or to be dismissed._

_After a direct and uninspired series of questions, the Moff sent him packing. Wading through the dreamscape, Kallus remembered the cold iron grip binding his fury. The Agent desired validation, to hear their secrets and put them to use smothering other sparks of rebellion endangering the Empire. His ears itched to hear Jarrus’ voice, spilling his plans and surely extensive network._

_Instead all he heard was pain._

_Agony vibrated through the air, even though the Jedi did not scream._

_Kallus was overwhelmed by the memory of every being he’d strapped to those same tables, handed over to the slave yards, and delegated to the loving clutches of his superiors. He could no longer push this aside._

_He struggled to take one step, then another. Unsure of his direction, or what to alter, Kallus pushed himself at least to change. An invisible river seemed to pull against his feet, ready to drown him if he lost his footing. Kallus strove against what felt impossible - acknowledging his control, and his lack thereof.  
_

_In every action Kallus had taken, he had been deliberately, creatively cruel. He had accepted that was the path to power, the path to change and to bring order. Every moment he drew breath he made a choice and that was the limit of his control._

_Nothing could have redirected the Moff’s plan. As undeniable as Lord Vader’s command, there was no manipulation that could divert their focus. Kallus had always considered their attitudes admirable, now he saw them for what they truly were: true believers in a subjugated universe._

_They were above the law, such as it still existed. The Empire did not secure peace, it destroyed it. What could a single being do when confronted by their relentless evil?_

\- - -

Coming awake with a start, Kallus found himself calculating how long a sliced connection could hold if completed discreetly. They’d need to be spread across a wide array of locations and units to ensure he was not the common thread.

In his dream he’d been unsure what to change, just sure that change needed to happen. For cycles he’d walked a line between acceptance and existential collapse; one moment aware and responsive, the next caught in the web of past failure. Enough waffling; it was time for action.

He needed to know the extent of this affliction.

Whether this belief in subjucation was isolated to several admittedly powerful leaders, or a common denominator among all of Imperial command. Maybe that didn't matter.

If the crede of totalitarian extremism was prevalent enough, it may not be possible to salvage the Empire. That was a big choice to make. The Agent was unwilling to abandon his life’s work without affirming his doubt.

ISB Assessments started next cycle. With his expanded security clearance, Kallus was presented with an embarrassment of opportunities - if he timed his actions precisely. 

Kallus was losing sleep for different reasons now, packing data configuration and research into every hour. His body ached and his leg might be sore but Kallus had new purpose driving him. Rotations wove together with the addition of new activities. Though Kallus never lost track, even therapy appointments seemed to pass more swiftly.

2-1BD had finally cleared him to return to the field. Grumbling about the insensitivity of first class droids that couldn’t even feel pain, Kallus was nonetheless ecstatic to add sparring practice back to his routine. Despite persistent aches and stiffnessm, he had gleefully thrown himself back into training against the Relentless' battle droids.

He’d never been keen on exercising with witnesses and this “final stage of recovery” made an excellent excuse to secure his own KX series droid. Inputting the request on the way to his tactical station, Kallus almost walked into another officer - the Lieutenant Lyste LZ-735 had mentioned. 

“Excuse me,” He said, the officer saluted and stood aside, waiting for the Agent to continue. “are you from the Garel sector, Lieutenant...?”

“Lyste sir! Yogar Lyste, LSM-03,” the officer ejected, “Yes sir. I was born on Garel and raised there before my admittance to the Imperial Command Academy. You may recall I served as a supply master at the Lothal Complex earlier this year.” 

“Of course.” Kallus nodded, feeling simultaneously humored and compunctious. As if an Agent’s apology could make up for the degenerate state of the Empire and this young man’s imagined career. 

It took the barest of prodding for Lyste to outline his experience and connections on the small world adjacent to the Lothal sector. Before Lyste could get ahead of himself, Kallus requested his observations in a report. Beaming, the Lieutenant agreed without asking for a deadline or pertinent details and practically ran to his station once dismissed.

If half the contacts Kallus was looking for were this forward, he’d need a new approach. Luckily their overlap in service could easily explain away any familiarity LSM-03 seemed to harbor for ISB 021. 

\- - -

Another long rotation completed in service to the Empire found Agent Kallus stepping through the automatic door to his quarters.

He tugged off one snug, black synth-hide gauntlet and then the other. Wrinkles fanned across the creases at each finger joint. His made-to-measure cuirass easily uncoupled, deft motions evinced many years of practice. Next he unbuckled his uniform boots, tighter strapped than regulation and reinforced with ankle support lining. As each layer of his standard issue ISB Officer uniform peeled away, Kallus felt lighter.

Over time these trappings had slowly formed to his movements. Strange to think they now felt more like a burden than finely molded regalia. 

Late as it was, Kallus was restless. 

He shipped out for his Assessment in about seven hours. Just before shift end he’d received notification that his droid requisition arrived in the Relentless' hangar. Kallus itched to boot them up and begin combat coding. Now might not be the time, as he was already down to his microgarments. Kallus reached instead for his bo-rifle. 

Though the katas felt incomplete without a partner, they were a reassurance and a healthy outlet for his energy. He ran a palm across the frame, feeling the hollow tone of the barrel echoing in his bones.

Depressing the configuration switch to staff position, Kallus stepped into the first form. 

He wondered how close his movements matched the Guardsmen for whom this weapon was forged. Kallus had trawled the depths of Imperial net and planet-side resources after Lasan. Cobbling together choreography for electro-staves, blast-rifles, and vibro-ax he’d created an unpredictable and effective pattern all his own. 

The death of the Lasat Guardsman flashed across his mind. The warrior’s face a rictus of pain as he mastered himself to utter those final, unfamiliar words. A long purple arm extended the bo-rifle not in surrender, but the gravity of something else.

Kallus envied Garazeb’s ability to move on.

He wanted to understand what Zeb knew of the Boosahn Keeraw. There were codes of conduct among many cultures, but that term had been absent from his search.

Kallus scoffed aloud at his past confidence in the supposedly complete and accurate records of the Empire. Devastation was one thing, collateral damage was a hazard of any military action, but how did one establish the tactical value of genocide? Redistribution was more efficacious, allowing the public to tell the tale of the Empire rescuing them from a war-zone. 

If they intended to make an effective example, people had to know - but almost no one was aware of what happened on Lasan, or Geonosis.

What could possibly have been the point of wiping out the Geonosians? Kallus remembered the fall out from the Clone Wars, the suffering and curfews and death reports. Millions had perished even as Republic forces were finally allowed to head out. So often their battle ships arrived too late, or in the middle of Seperatist atrocities. Even with such terrible odds, had T-7 Ion disruptor development truly been necessary? 

Why hadn’t all of them been remaindered as ordered? Maketh had been outmatched by the rebels, but she was a civilian Minister. Was she not made aware of their horrifying capacity for destruction? The Agent could not imagine a quartermaster granting access to those arms without vetting the recipient. Kallus could. 

There was more documentation on the T-7 Ion Disruptors issued to Minister Tua than the genocide of Lasan. He felt this lip curl in disgust at the detail on supposedly illegal firearms. The Minister hadn’t even requisitioned the disruptors, she’d received an ordinance to put them into production at the Lothal machinery facilities as soon as an intact prototype could be obtained.

The staff whirled through the air. His triceps burned, halting its downward force inches from the floor. Lungs expanded within his rib cage as Kallus turned into the next sequence. His heart pounded in rhythm with each parry and thrust. Fragments of duracrete splintered around him, smoke rising from blaster bolts. Kallus continued his kata. He knew these apparitions of the past. He’d shoved them aside for so many years they could no longer be denied.

What, if anything, had the holocaust of Lasan truly accomplished?

The Rebellion continued, stronger than before and recruiting more sympathizers each rotation. At the time Command insisted they had a plan for Lasan. What could they possibly have imagined would happen, when they equipped ground assault troops with weapons that could instantly short circuit a starship? 

The memories he’d attempted to negotiate for years saturated the world around him.

Kallus was barefoot, turning across the metal floor of his quarters, but his feet felt the soft, fertile soil of Lasan beneath heeled boots. Screams reverberated through humid air.

The squad was looking to him for direction - where was their Commander? Lasat armsmen were one foe, but they were encountering civilians cornered in some kind of bunker. Kallus felt his voice crack as he pushed his comm unit - requesting verification of orders. 

Had he always made it his habit to excuse his actions with the orders he received?

Kallus spun in a roundhouse kick, extending the ‘rifle as a counterbalance. When Garazeb dared him to ask questions, Kallus went to work determined to prove the Lasat wrong.

Evidence had not conformed to his expectations, even on his live-updated files. Command denied the importance of the loss, as if justice could be served at its discretion and not in light of the facts. The only safe copy of his intelligence was attached to a relic of the bygone era he’d worked tirelessly to replace. 

Breathing purposefully, Kallus focused on the moment. He listened to the slide of the rifle through the cabin’s stale air, its barrel warmed by his calloused hand. Kallus saw the shine of electricity sparking along the end. In the warm light of the meteorite, he drew these facts into his mind. They were real, he was real. There was no judgement in them, only in him. Only he could change that. 

Arms spinning the ‘rifle through its final form. Kallus inclined his forehead over the meeting of his fists in a pantomime of the warrior’s farewell Zeb gave him. Standing straight, humble, ready - he finally felt spent. 

The seed of doubt, planted by the forward, bumbling questions of a Lasat, had sprouted in the recesses of his psyche. Watered by the Empire’s own deception, doubt bloomed into conviction. Kallus could no longer deny the truth. The Empire didn’t mean to preserve life, or prevent war - it worked for the benefit of a tyrannical few. 

He did not know how long he’d been snowed, or how far it went. It no longer mattered. Discipline was the cure. Kallus would discover the extent of the corruption the Agent had never noticed.

\- - -

Arriving early for his Assessment, Kallus spent the first few rotations greeting his peers stationed at High Command. Though the ISB was hardly synonymous with small talk, there were plenty of grueling tasks to come as Agents rotated through their annual in-person reports. Every member of the Bureau was looking to shed a little energy and time with an officer of sufficient discretion.

Before long Kallus and K-3XT were making a fine trade. 

Security droids weren’t uncommon on Coruscant, but in the two-rotation jump to the Core Kallus had programmed a wide array of practice forms into K-3’s memory bank. Many of which were only common on the outer rim. Agents looking to hone their edge or redeploy to nearby sectors were eager to test their mettle. 

A few lines of unredacted code or template copies functioned as idle chit chat for most Agents. Time sparring with the droid, or both K-3 and Kallus, could catch a better prize. It was still early in the game, and Kallus was most interested in favors. There were more than a few offers on the table, but Kallus was unwilling to consider the attachments others craved.

He could not abide the slick, mechanical interactions of the lonely and self-denying Agents that upheld the oppression he now saw highlighted in every interaction. Worse were the clearly complicit, angling for relationships of power and release under the guise of mutual satisfaction. 

Kallus preferred to come by such relationships honestly. Not that he'd formed many attachments in his time.

If it had been a low priority before, engaging in a relationship now was downright dangerous. Not that Kallus was one to count his jogan fruit before they were ripe.

He played the game, negotiating different stakes instead of outright refusing offers. Building credit with peers and higher ranking officers was commonplace on the core planets, an expected enterprise for any Agent dedicated to their career’s escalation. 

“How many today, Agent Kallus?” K-3 asked as Kallus blocked another parry with his bo-rifle, the metallic klang ringing through the multipurpose room they’d reserved. 

“Seven.” the human breathed, torso arcing in a deep dodge to avoid the electrostaff K-3 whirld through the air. He barely heard the droid's short nod of affirmation. K-3 was turning out to be a stoic fellow.

Kallus could feel sparks against his skin. He rolled his weight into his right leg, snapping his left heel through the droid’s chest. The kick barely offset the droid’s balance, but it was enough for Kallus to swing his ‘rifle up. The weapon’s counterweight hefted towards K-3’s side, the droid’s superhuman reflexes caught it before it could impact. 

Distracted by holding the rifle and the staff, K-3 did not expect another kick from Agent Kallus. Struck at the midsection, the droid rocked slightly off-balance. Kallus shifted, twisting his bo-rifle out of the metal grip and dancing out of the ‘staff’s range to kick again - this time at the leg joint. K-3’s footing was not strong enough to avoid catching their weight on one knee.

“Well done, Agent Kallus.” K-3’s voice modulator resonated, “You completed this form series with 32% less predictability and 1 minute, 48 seconds more quickly than our previous round.”

Breathing more heavily than he’d like, Kallus nodded towards K-3. He felt cold even planetside, his sculpted arms rising with goosebumps under the layer of sweat. Body hair clung wetly to his limbs, reminding Kallus why he preferred to wear wicking athletic attire.

His right leg was still sheathed in a light compression sleeve, more to extend his endurance than to provide substantive support. Though an ache persisted, 2-1BD insisted his muscles were successfully reattached to healthy knit bone and lingering soreness would fade with time. 

“Thank you K-3,” Kallus began, his hot breath condensing against his beard and five o’clock shadow. His fingers scraped with satisfaction through the thick stubble. “Here’s the schedule of today’s visitors.”

Handing a pad to K-3, Kallus grabbed a quickdri cloth from his stack. He’d pushed himself hard this morning, needing to start the day wrung out and relaxed as possible. His interview with High Command was only a few hours away. Kallus intended to arrive at the meeting room ahead of time to make the best impression. There was plenty of time to cool down before grabbing a leisurely shower and fresh uniform.

An entry query at the door cut into his train of thought. 

“Enter,” he called, hoping whoever was on the other side of the door didn’t mind a bit of informality. He wasn’t exactly in uniform. 

“Good morning Agent Kallus,” Colonel Wuulf Yularen greeted him. Wide eyed, Kallus saluted before he could think to do anything else. Skin cooling in the chill of the compound, he felt mortified to meet his former mentor in such a state.

“Colonel Yularen, sir,” the Agent replied with what he hoped was a disciplined, friendly tone. “I hope you’ll forgive my state of attire, sir.”

“At ease, Agent,” the Colonel even chuckled with gravitas. “I was curious to see the droid my Agents have been calling ‘Kallus’ K Unit’ - but I see I’ve interrupted you.” Agent Kallus felt his eyebrows tick in surprise. 

K-3’s moniker was more suggestive than Kallus expected. He certainly hadn’t coined it. Idly, Kallus considered whether it was worth the effort to cultivate a reputation for getting his satisfaction from combat. Would it encourage ‘K-Unit’ comments or deter them? 

At least the Colonel wasn’t here to place Kallus under review or summonedhim prematurely. Agent Kallus attempted to relax his stance, as requested. Modesty was foreign concept, having been part of the military for so many years.

Nevertheless, appearing in the company of a commanding officer in his smalls and a couple of compression sleeves was not part of Kallus plan this rotation. He felt exposed and anxiously out of regulation. Since Yularen seemed to be ignoring it, the Agent decided to take the same approach.

“Well, they’re hardly ‘mine’ - though I did requisition and program K-3XT,” Agent Kallus admitted. As advantageous as this unexpected visit could become, he did not want to appear gauche by showing off. “Colonel Yularen please meet my sparring partner. We could certainly schedule an appointment if you’d like a turn yourself?”

Agent Kallus, watching K-3 glide easily over to the humans with datapad in hand, was sure the subtlety of design was intentional. K-3’s slim form disguised the incredible weight of metal shielding and powerful engine required to operate the heavy droid. K-3 stood at their default stance silently awaiting instruction. Protocol was not their strength.

“Fascinating,” Yularen declared. “I’m not a close-form fighter myself, but I can see the appeal. Easier than fumbling with the schedules of another officer. No restraining bolt?” he observed with an arch of one salt-and pepper brow.

“Keeps me on my toes, sir.” Agent Kallus replied. A proud smile quirked his lips at the approval.

He’d admired Yularen at the Academy and benefited from his guidance. Limited though their interactions had been, the Agent always imagined the decorated Colonel as one of the embodiments of a righteous Empire. Calculating and intelligent, the Colonel was unafraid of making tough choices to save lives and ensure their organization continued to support the galaxy.

One of the few who successfully transitioned from the Galactic Republic, Yularen seemed like an avatar of justice. 

“There are a number of insurgent cells in the outer rims that prefer to make their attacks… up close,” Agent Kallus commented in the lingering quiet, doubtful the Colonel would come so far out of his way only to see K-3. 

“Ah yes,” Yularen responded. Frowning with recognition, the Colonel turned towards the Agent. “I’ve seen the reports. Infiltrating our stormtrooper units, penetrating our blockade, stealing resources from ships awaiting fuel and munitions. It is a shame the rebels are willing to allow so many people to perish in the crossfire. What do you think of them?”

“They are unusually creative.” Agent Kallus conceded readily. After a moment with no reply he stiffly continued “As always, I’m in your service Colonel. I’ve exhausted our wheelhouse of standard tactics. The last few cycles were, unfortunately, hampered by my recovery. Though it provided plenty of time to plan some new approaches and collaborate with other Agents.”

The Colonel’s scoff surprised him. 

“Of course,” the Agent continued almost hesitantly “If you or any of High Command believe my failure to be complete I hope you reassign someone better qualified.” 

Colonel Yularan fastened a speaking look on the Agent before walking a quick circle around K-3, as though assessing the droid.

The Agent could not keep his brows from rising at this unusual behavior.

Agent Kallus turned to wipe sweat from his face and neck, resisting the temptation to fidget with the cloth. K-3’s visual sensor units clicked between the humans, no doubt absorbing his change in body language more accurately than the meaning of their words. 

“We must provide results for our Emperor, Agent Kallus,” Colonel Yularen said eventually, coming to a stop only a few feet away. “You now have Moff Tarkin and Darth Vader’s personal attention...” 

The Colonel’s gaze shifted and he moved soundlessly into Agent Kallus’ personal space. The Agent reverted to attention, eyes fixed and spine stiff as if in formation. Colonel Yularan stopped only inches from the Agent’s ear before saying his next words in a forceful whisper. “You will not fail.”

Swiftly walking towards the door, the Colonel paused to look back. Agent Kallus focused on his frustration with the Rebels of Lothal and his commitment to secure the system. His eyes glinted with determination instead of betrayal. Nodding with finality, Colonel Yularen wordlessly took his leave. 

The doors slid shut, and Kallus felt his muscles cramp from missing the cool down portion of his exercise. 82 minutes until his interview, there was still time to complete a conditioning routine. He asked K-3 for one of their faster sequences focused on stretching and dodging. The droid was all too happy to oblige.

Kallus ground the tension of his position between his teeth.

It was unclear if the Colonel meant to offer reassurance or motivation. It was possible Yularen had backed Kallus or his tactics against another ISB Commander, or his own long term interests.

To both warn him and potentially set him up for failure at his Assessment was suspicious. The Colonel was an accomplished tactician, deserving of Kallus’ respect as much as his caution - every move was clearly calculated.

The win conditions of this game were changing, but Kallus felt freer for knowing he was a pawn. He had time, he had skills, and he was better prepared than anyone to put them all to use. He would share what he had to and report as ordered.

But Kallus was no longer in service to the Empire. 

\- - -

Laborious as his Assessment was, Agent ISB 021 gave his in person report with the excruciating level of detail and analysis obligatory to his position.

Alexsandr Kallus was relieved to have a couple rotations of personal leave before returning to Lothal and the Relentless. A last gasp of imagined freedom before he could put the rest of his plans into motion. 

The core planet and friendly sparring sessions had provided a wide array of interesting and off putting intelligence. Through connections with other Agents, Imperial officers, and even third parties, he’d secured multiple connections. The gems of his lot included ties to several insurgent groups in the mid-rim, a number of subtle burner slices into the ISB mainframe, and a lead on communication with a General from Mygeeto among other leads. 

High Command was aware of every step he took and every word he spoke on this surveillance drenched world. That attention to detail provided multitudinous opportunities to lay false trails. If he should ever be investigated, the evidence would show Agent Kallus spent his free time working ahead as always. Not that the Empire cared all that much about evidence. 

Kallus felt his lip curl in disgust.

He held out hope that Yularen and those in High Command he’d reported to for years would have some explanation for the missing information. No luck.

Results were the priority. The Emperor’s will was the only law. Casualties, redaction and lost records were “not a concern” for the Bureau. It was in direct violation of ISB’s own protocol! The continual doublethink was only exceeded by the personal hypocrisy of -

Alexsandr felt himself getting carried away.

To get caught with such sentiments would be damaging to his reputation in the extreme. A dangerous liability for any Imperial, let alone an Agent of the Bureau.

One step at a time. Right now he was out of uniform, garbed in a light linen suit, seams pressed into layered folds at the right shoulder and left hip to provide plenty of room should he be tempted to exert himself. 

Though the Bureau was kept purposefully chilly, Coruscant was warm in the reflecting sunlight. Refractions bounced through turbo lift channels and passing speeders as canyons of glass ascended towards the evening sky. After years of travelling the stars Alexsandr could hardly remember this place being his home. Buskers, companions, and pickpockets bustled around him, frank in their pursuits. The honesty was refreshing. 

Slowing near a scrap dealer, Kallus picked up a few ancient parts wondering idly if any might be compatible with his COMPNOR station back on the Relentless.

The relics gleamed dully in the vanishing light. The pollution here was so complete that, among the mid-tier levels as he was, night held more options for activities than stars in the sky. Coruscant’s people were far more interested in those exertions than the darkening of their firmament. 

A twi’lek in denim overalls and a pair of well worked mechanic’s gloves came over to him at the table. She was petite, and seemed keen on making eye contact with him. Under a stray crust of grease and dust, curious lids widened as the young creature realized he was probably an imperial soldier.

Was his bearing so off-putting?

Acting naturally was proving to be more of a challenge when he meant it sincerely.

Smiling with what Kallus hoped was sheepish interest, the twi’lek looked away smiling demurely. Her gloved fingers picked up a hydrospanner, deftly adjusting the tension as she fidgeted. Her skin blushed an attractive, rich blue. She met his gaze, clearly drinking her fill of his appearance as well.

How delightful. 

He could hardly believe her gumption. To this young woman he was simply a man in a slightly dated outfit shopping for obscure tech at her stall. He just happened to work for the Empire. It had been years since a civilian had looked at him without fear, or at least apprehension. It had been longer still since he’d felt the honest attention of another being in this way.

He’d forgotten the rush of serotonin. The dilation of his pupils brightened his sight in the partial light of the stall. Another time and place, this might have been safe for her. 

Better stick to the scrap. 

\- - -

_Kallus could not feel his body._

_A deep numbness spread from his back and lower legs through his arms and neck. Needles of cold pierced muscles to prick his bones. The Agent was frozen._

_P_ _anic at the dissociation bloomed in his mind. There should be pain - Agents were trained to resist all kinds of pain. Icy shards cracked in the air around him as instinct struggled against consciousness._

_A crunch to one side announced the presence of another. His body heaved. The undeniable call of fight or flight tensed the column of his core. He screamed, steam escaping from his throat into the frigid atmosphere._

_F_ _ractured ribs were strung tight against his spine. He felt the swelling of torn muscle and the grate of broken bone._

_It was almost a relief to experience agony. Pain was at least familiar territory. The Agent hissed, fighting to control himself. The escape pod was more intact than he’d expected. Kallus could probably find the transponder and standard emergency supplies._

_First he needed his weapon._

_Even in a dream Kallus felt compelled to have it in his hands. He turned, carefully holding his leg and feeling for his ‘rifle._

_In the escape pod’s dim emergency light, he looked down the barrel of his enemy’s bo-rifle. This was the end, though not as he imagined it. The Lasat murmured, almost to itself, about the satisfaction of crushing his skull. Kallus, delirious with fear, felt his mouth spouting words without his consent._

_Every moment was sharply outlined by the cold and pain. Beyond the weapon in the Lasat’s hands, Kallus saw his desperation reflected. Garazeb’s pupils dilated in the dark, witnessing the Agent’s weakness._

_Suddenly, as if he recognized the person laying on the floor before him, Zeb lowered his ‘rifle._

_Kallus was gripped by a purple limb. It was warm. Furred and layered, the four fingered hand pulled him out of the tiny pod but released him quickly. Falling into the snow below, Kallus could not help crying out as fractures and tears pulled against each other._

_Zeb returned to the pod. He did not linger to tug with sadistic intent or shoot him; he turned his back on his, admittedly injured foe. Kallus could not resist the opportunity to crawl toward his bo-rifle. Why could he not manage to break free?_

_Every inch felt like a mile to the splintered body he dragged through the snow._

_Kallus felt sure he’d die here._

_Inches from his grasp, Garazeb grabbed the weapon. Firmly, the Lasat refused to press his advantage. He returned with the transponder and even shared his plan to fix it. When their radiative energy unit froze, he handed Kallus the meteorite._

_As if it was nothing, Zeb surrendered to his adversary their only means of heat and light._

_Kallus had not understood. Even as he agreed to work together for their mutual benefit, he believed it was a matter of practicality. The longer they spent together, the less clear Kallus’ convictions seemed. In spite of the cold Kallus felt parts of himself melting in Zeb’s presence._

_In the dream he reflected on his ambivalence._

_The shame of his past felt distant in the cold, as Zeb declared indefensible things were simply over - not forgiveness so much as acknowledgement._

_Kallus no longer struggled against the moment - he was not in control, but he was empowered. He was not stranded on Bahryn alone, and he was capable of choice._

_Alexsandr Kallus chose to believe Zeb would not hurt him._

_He chose to act honorably in turn._

_This was the dream he had most often. It threw into sharp relief every underhanded tactic Kallus employed against the rebels. It forced him to revisit every assignment, including Lasan, and all the work he’s done as an Agent of the Bureau. Hundreds of civilians deported to labor camps, sold into slavery, starved at his command, all for what? To crush what little hope these people had left? Hope that life could be better than what they knew under the Empire._

_Returning to the Relentless, Kallus did not disclose the presence of Garazeb in the escape pod, nor his own fraternization. At the time Kallus told himself he had no other way to control the situation._

_That it was necessary to protect his reputation. That it was helpful enough to include the actions of rebels from Lothal at the Geonosian construction station. That his plan had worked._

_I_ _n the dream he realized it was subconsciously his first act of rebellion._

_In his mind he no longer felt the terror of his past self. Unshackled from the chains of Imperial lies, and his own memories Kallus was free to choose. He chose to leave with Zeb, embraced by the light and imagined suspicion of the Ghost crew. Divested of his illusions, Kallus knew benediction._

_Alexsandr Kallus would not justify the Agent’s hateful actions. But he was not yet worthy of the forgiveness Garazeb Orrelios offered._

\- - -

Kallus opened his eyes to the pitched hum of shuttle craft engines and darkness.

His body struck up a familiar symphony of complaints as he hauled himself out of repose. Every movement was heavy, with purpose as well as fatigue. Between injuries and age, Kallus knew this was only the beginning. Like every rotation before, he stepped through the kata of combat. Muscles unwound, each section slowly folded into concert. 

Before stepping into the refresher, Alexsandr picked up his portable transponder. He isolated a remote frequency. Shielding it from Imperial detection and masking its outbound location, he sent a single encrypted file. 

His discovery of the Fulcrum identity, verification of their activity, and their signature transmission channel should have been the crown jewel of his annual Assessment. A direct line to rebel communication was a lynchpin for the growing movement. Instead this would be his stepping stone onto a new path.

The glow of artificial lamps aboard this Imperial craft could not match the illuminations of Bahryn. But they would be bright enough to light his way. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love the canon. I am taking some artistic license where wookiepedia, A New Dawn, Star Wars: Rebels and some of the comics leave gaps. 
> 
> \- You know what triggers you and terms like PTSD and Recovery are broad -  
> Info below is for those who need specifics about how these themes are treated before reading. Tried to keep spoilage to a minimum.
> 
> PTSD is mild to moderate in this story. Agent Kallus has uncontrollable thoughts about his experience on Bahryn. There are a couple instances of flashback. Kallus' intrusive memories and dreams are not graphic and refer to events described or shown in the show. This fic is about him learning to cope and assess how to move forward.
> 
> Canon Typical violence includes several scenes of fighting from the show as well as my version of Kallus witnessing the deaths of his squad on Onderon. 
> 
> Recovery involves the crash at Bahryn, Kallus' working through and receiving physiotherapy for a broken femur and fractured hand. Also description of injuries and psychological recovery from Onderon.


End file.
